


(k)Nickers Off Ready When I Come Home

by stuffandnonsense



Series: The Sharing 'Verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Community: seasonal_spuffy, F/M, Intimacy, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffandnonsense/pseuds/stuffandnonsense
Summary: Buffy and Spike are finally a couple. But after spending so much time and effort building up their emotional intimacy, they've sort of lost their way with the physical side of things. A road trip to Oregon seems like the perfect time and place for them to work it out. Through talking. Definitely talking. Certainly using their mouths. And tongues. And maybe a few other things.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue and chapter one were originally published in round 25 of Seasonal Spuffy, for the theme 'road trip'.

The first time they tried to go beyond kissing and light touches, it was a disaster. Spike came back to her place from shopping, cold and damp, and Buffy called out for him to find her when he was ready. He was kicking himself for forgetting to pick up paprika and vaguely considering a shower to warm up when he walked into her bedroom and there she was, spread out on the bed like a fifties pin-up girl. Her hair was done in a faux-messy style he knew took hours to create, and she was wearing something soft and lacy and new with peekaboo slits. In Sunnydale, it would have made him feel special – like he mattered – but now it just filled him with dread. Sex wasn’t even on his radar just then, and all he could think was that he’d end up ripping or staining or otherwise damaging the outfit so it went straight in the bin at the end of the night.

And she’d be sad. She’d pretend with all her heart that she wasn’t. She’d tell him it wasn’t his fault – laugh even, because Buffy wasn’t vindictive like that. But her eyes wouldn’t be laughing, and Spike would always know that she bought something especially for tonight, especially for him, and he’d gone and ruined it. And then everything would be awkward for a day or two – three if the lingerie was expensive enough – because they still hadn’t really learned how to argue without it feeling like the end of everything.

That was when he noticed the candles on the bedside tables, which only made him feel worse. To Spike, candles meant poverty and want and not having reliable enough power for proper lighting and the telly at the same time. Worse, Buffy’d bought the non-drip kind, which had some chemical in them that made him queasy when they burned. On top of that, there was all the anxiety around the damage a candle could do. One too-violent shake of the bed, and they’d fall onto her nice, soft carpet. Ruin it with wax – or set it on fire, if they were really unlucky. Or worse, they’d fall in the bed and set _him_ on fire.

Buffy looked so hopeful, in her pretty negligee with the soft lighting behind her that made her seem like a haloed angel. And she had that look – that coy, hungry look no one else he’d ever known could pull off.

There’d been too much build-up. They should’ve just shagged like rabbits from day one, and then they wouldn’t have been stuck in this awkward limbo for weeks now, where they were both pretty much ready but had no idea how to even start talking about sex, let alone doing anything about it. Then Buffy wouldn’t have tried to make a surprise seduction with all and only the things guaranteed to make Spike feel least comfortable and how in holy hell was he going to get out of this without making the light in her eyes die out?

Buffy knew she’d got it wrong as soon as he walked into the room. But she couldn’t work out for the life of her what her mistake had been. She’d tried to recreate some of the atmosphere from when their sex life had been good – no, amazingly, mind-blowingly, spectacular! But Spike had that deer-in-headlights look he was still convinced was ‘neutral’ that she’d never tell him wasn’t because he’d gotten too good at hiding his feelings from her now.

He flinched when she walked up to him. She thought about kissing him, but they’d agreed – they had to communicate with words this time around, not with fists or any other parts.

“You’re not ready, are you?” Buffy asked, softly.

When Spike shook his head, coward that he was, she pulled her ratty old grey robe over her frills, and they started talking about what he was going to cook for dinner. She didn’t want to push him, but she was starting to worry that if they didn’t take their physical relationship to the next level soon, they never would.

 

-∞-

 

The next time was just as bad. They’d been making out on the couch for long enough that _Oceans Twelve_ was nearly over and Buffy still hadn’t watched past the first twenty minutes of _Oceans Eleven_. Her skirt was … somewhere … and they were both naked from the waist up, which was yet another careful step in the right direction. But as soon as Spike started oh-so-slowly sliding her underwear down her thighs, Buffy froze.

He immediately pulled back, leaving a slight breeze in his wake. “You okay?” Spike asked, slightly breathless, pupils blown.

Buffy nodded, then laid her right hand over his left and firmly placed them both between her legs. “I’m very okay.” She smiled, big and bright, hoping against hope that he believed it.

She heard him take a deep inhale through his nose – needing to double check – and it made her sad. Buffy ground herself into his hand, closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip, silently willing him to just keep going. All she could think was that if they just went ahead and finally had sex, it would release all this stupid pressure and everything would be okay again.

She could feel Spike’s fingers circling, teasing her, and the anticipation was agonising. “Please,” she whispered. Only when he tried to slip one inside her, she was so tight he couldn’t get in. Buffy’s stomach dropped. This had never happened to her before.

“You’re not ready,” he said, pulling back again.

“Yes I am,” Buffy whined, grabbing at his hand. “Just force through, it’ll be fine.” As soon as she said the words, she knew it was a mistake.

“Not gonna force anything,” Spike snapped, retreating to the armchair on the other side of the room so quickly she barely saw the movement. She felt it, though.

Buffy held back her tears, not wanting to make him freak out even more. Because this wasn’t about him. He was doing everything perfectly. “I love you,” she whispered, miserable and wet. She could see something relax, just behind his eyes. And it warmed her, as it always did, to see how much a difference those words made.

“I know,” he said gently – because she had magic words, just like him. “Love you, too.”

Every time Buffy thought she might be getting better at the talking-about-her-feelings part, something like this happened. Watching him hunched up in the armchair, all she wanted to do was tell him how she was never scared of him, only of herself. But she didn’t know what words to use so he’d believe her – she’d already done to death every variation of ‘it isn’t you, it’s me’.

Spike could tell she was only just holding back the tears – of course he could. Knew, too, that he was overreacting. So they changed into their nice, safe, pyjamas and went to bed, where he held her. Or she held him. He was never really sure which it was, and there was comfort in that. But he was starting to worry that if something didn’t break soon, they’d lose the moment and fall back into being friends.

 

-∞-

 

Spike had to go up to Oregon for a job. It was exactly the wrong time for them to be apart for a week and they both knew it. But to Buffy’s surprise, he suggested she drive there with him, so they could talk. It was a great idea. Perfect, even. If it weren’t for the fact that spending the best part of nine hours trapped in a car and talking about her feelings filled Buffy with pure, abject terror.

“Great!” she said brightly.

Spike laughed. “Don’t have to drive.” He shrugged. “Could fly to Eugene, I’d pick you up from the airport.” Less confidently, he added, “Don’t have to come at all, just thought—”

“I want to come,” Buffy said quickly, with a more natural smile. “I’d like to see what you do.”

His answering grin was like sunshine.


	2. Chapter 2

They set off just after full dark, still undecided as to whether they’d drive straight through the night or stop partway and hole up for the day. With no stops or traffic, it should take a little over eight hours to get to their destination: about fifty miles south of Eugene. Perfectly doable before sunrise. But there was no way Spike could go that long without nicotine, and since Buffy refused to sit in an ashtray, that meant fairly regular rest stops. Plus, ‘Dave’ – so-called because his real name sounded like a cross between choking to death and the squeals of a stuck pig – was paranoid as all get-out, and Spike didn’t much fancy the approach when he was stiff and knackered from eight plus hours stuck in a car.

Buffy lost rock, paper, scissors, so he was driving the first shift. For two people who spent most of their time together, it surprised them both how quickly they ran through their respective repertoires of avoidance filler conversation. By the time they were out of the city and onto the highway, somehow they’d wandered into long, awkward silence territory.

“So, where do you want to start?” Spike asked.

Buffy twisted her hands in her lap. “Willow has this list of standard questions she asks people before she sleeps with them.”

Spike laughed. “Does she read it off an actual list every time?”

“No!” Buffy said, offended on Willow’s behalf. Then she thought about it. “I hope not, anyway. But it seems like a nice, safe place to start.”

“Okay,” Spike said, completely neutrally.

“A lot of it’s practical stuff about contraception and testing for STDs.”

Spike snorted. “What, Willow hasn’t done some spell on her snatch so’s any disease that crosses her barrier gets sent back ten times nastier?”

Buffy refused to grace that with a response. “I know the ‘conception’ part isn’t really important, but what about everything else?”

“Can’t catch human diseases.”

“Never?”

Spike shrugged. “Darla had the pox when she was human – both times. Never knew her or any other vamp to get sick.”

“Huh,” Buffy said. “What about carrying them? I mean—”

“You mean what if I shag someone sick and pass it on to you?” Spike sighed. “Dunno. You’re the nearest to human I’ve been with since before AIDs.”

“Seriously?”

Spike grimaced. “Dru sometimes took dinner to bed first.” One shoulder twitched. “Or after. But not often – mostly when I was away.”

“How many people have you slept with?”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, “Doubt that’s on Willow’s list.”

“It isn’t.”

“You won’t like my answer.”

There was a twinkle in his eye that Buffy could just about make out in the low light. “How do you know I won’t?”

“‘Cause you want to believe I was a virgin when I was turned, had wild monkey sex with Angelus and Dru for a couple decades, then stayed faithful to her until I met you, after which I did nothing but pine, alone in my bed.” He waited a beat, then started grinning.

Buffy could feel the blush creeping up her neck. “I know full well none of that’s true.”

Spike’s grin got a little wider. “But who am I to stomp all over your fantasies?”

“Fine. Be Mr Mysterious.”

“Not about bein’ mysterious,” Spike said, more seriously. He sighed. “Not good at relationships. Never have been. Was with Dru a long time, but that’s hardly a model for – well, for anythin’.” His left hand started automatically patting around for cigarettes before he brought it forcibly back to the wheel. “‘Sides, numbers don’t mean anythin’. You know all the important bits.”

Buffy reached over to put her hand on his knee, and he took his right hand off the wheel to lay it over hers.

“Next, Willow asks how often sex should happen, and at what time of day.” Buffy stifled a giggle. “She also says everyone she’s ever asked has lied about how often.”

“Which direction?”

“The women tend to lowball, and the guys tend to overestimate.”

“How’d this come up in conversation? You an’ Willow haven’t….”

“No!” Buffy said, visibly horrified. She folded her arms over her chest and straightened up in her seat.

Spike put on his most innocent face. “Just askin’.”

“I went to her for advice, jeez.” Buffy slowly unfolded her arms. “So, how often?”

“Depends,” He said, thinking about it. “Been a few times a day, every day, sometimes. But ‘ve gone months with nothin’.”

“I think the point of the question is more about the average, all other things being equal.”

“Never really thought about it,” Spike said, surprising himself a little. He glanced sideways at her. “Not up to just me, though, is it?”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know. Like you say, sometimes twice a day feels like a drought and other times once a week feels like a chore. Maybe the answer is we need to keep talking about it?”

Spike nodded. “That’s fair.” He paused. “What about time of day?”

“I don’t like sex first thing in the morning if I have to be somewhere later,” Buffy blurted. “But other than that, any time is good.”

He smiled. “Can work with that.”

“You, um, you prefer at the end or the beginning of the day, don’t you?”

Spike went totally still. If they hadn’t been in a car speeding down a highway, Buffy would have bet a month’s pay he’d find an excuse to leave.

“What makes you say that?”

Buffy opened and closed her mouth twice before she found the words. “You only, um, initiate first thing in the morning, or late at night.” She paused, feeling a flush creep up her neck. “And you’re never really interested if I suggest anything in between.”

“When have you _ever_ initiated a nooner?” There was a very faint hint of anger now.

“Last week!” Her voice was suddenly too loud in the car. “And you completely freaked out!”

Spike had that deer-in-headlights look again.

“Nothin’ to do with time of day,” he said. Then he sighed, and haltingly started telling her about the candles and his fears about destroying her clothes. Then, finally, “An’ I don’t like bein’ cold.” He was making the realisation for himself as he said it. “If I’m not warm enough, never really interested. Was bloody freezin’ that day.”

“Oh,” Buffy said, shocked into silence for a good few seconds. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Didn’t tell you, did I?” He shook his head. “Stupid….”

Buffy reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Is there anything else that’s an immediate turn-off for you?” she asked. “Also one of Willow’s questions.”

Spike stared out at the road ahead, gathering up his courage. “Not many red lines I haven’t crossed.”

“I’ve just learned about three for the first time,” Buffy said drily. “And by they way, it woulda been nifty if you’d said something earlier.”

He made a face. “Like what?”

“‘I don’t want sex right now’?”

He shot her a very dubious look. “‘S hard for me to tell you ‘no’.”

“Then that’s something you need to work on.” Buffy rubbed at her eyes. “You think you’re the only one who worries about guessing wrong? I need to trust that you’ll tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like.”

“So now it’s all on me, yeah?”

“Of course not!”

“Sure sounded like it.”

_Be brave_ , Buffy told herself. “I assumed you just didn’t find me attractive.”

Spike’s whole body softened – making Buffy realise quite how rigid he’d become.

“‘M sorry,” he said, genuinely shocked. “Never thought – sorry.”

“And I can’t make sure I never do it again if I don’t know what ‘it’ is.”

He sighed. “One of the things I’ve been doin’, last few years, is tryin’ to be a bit more … assertive in the bedroom.”

Buffy only just held herself back from telling him he’d always seemed plenty assertive to her. It was hard.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike added, with a dark look. “Yuk it up.”

“Do you hear me laughing?”

He was silent for a few seconds. “My needs weren’t relevant, let alone important, for a very long time. Learned to just go with the flow, get my kicks where I could.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said softly.

“Don’t be.” He smiled, reaching out tentatively for her hand again. “Not much I haven’t tried – even less I can’t enjoy, given the right circs. Wouldn’t give that up for anythin’. But when it comes to sayin’ what I want? What I need?” He shook his head. “Brain shuts down. Can’t do it.”

“But you were working on that?”

Spike shifted uneasily in his seat. “Easier to dictate terms to a stranger. Easier still to stick to ‘em.”

“I think I get it,” Buffy said slowly. “Some of the stuff I want to ask you might be hard for you to answer.”

He frowned. “‘S not that I don’t have opinions. Just … you ask me what I won’t do? Not much. What I can’t do? Even less. But here’n now? When there’s nothin’ riding on it? Got no problems tellin’ you what I enjoy.” He paused. “You don’t want to pee on me, do you? Or have me pee on you?”

“Ewwww!” Buffy groaned, pulling her hand out of his and scrunching herself against the door, as far away from him as she could get. “Gross!”

Laughing, Spike snatched her hand back, raising it to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “No golden showers, check.”

“You are such a goof,” Buffy said, relaxing into a more comfortable position.

They let an easy silence build for a while.

“You got any red lines?” Spike asked gently.

She stared down at her knees. “There are some words I find hard to hear.”

He stiffened slightly. “Know I run my mouth off….”

“You’ve never said any of them,” Buffy said quickly. “But … please don’t ever call me ‘lover’?”

Spike waited for her to elaborate, but when she didn’t, he just nodded and gave her hand a squeeze.

“And, um, any kind of daddy or mommy stuff? It really squicks me out. Always has done.”

“That was Dru’s thing.” He let out a half-laugh. “Drove Darla barmy – still reckon that’s the only reason Angelus let her.”

“Well, whoever’s thing it was, can you just not?” Buffy’s tone was sharper than she wanted it to be.

“Not a problem.”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Willow also asks ‘how often do you masturbate?’.”

“She answers these questions herself, does she?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “It’d be pretty weird if she didn’t.”

They both watched the road for a few seconds.

“Every day,” Spike said, a little too quickly.

Without even pausing for breath, the words “Can I watch?” escaped Buffy’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Spike’s voice dropped almost a full octave.

She squirmed in her seat. Buffy’d stopped thinking of masturbating as sexy when she was seventeen and accidentally overheard Xander and Oz comparing their techniques. But there was something about the way Spike said ‘every day’ that just flat did it for her.

“You willin’ to return to favour?”

Buffy squirmed even more. “Sure,” she croaked, mouth suddenly very dry. “I guess.”

“How often?”

Despite having brought it up, Buffy hadn’t let herself acknowledge she’d have to actually answer the question. “Um,” she started.

“When you’re singing in the shower, d’you press that nozzle ‘tween your legs, massaging away?”

“S-sometimes?”

His voice went impossibly low. “What are you doin’ with your hands?”

“Oh, look!” Buffy said brightly. “There’s the turn-off for the rest area.”

“Tease.”

“You betcha. Plus, I really need to pee.”

Laughing, Spike slowed down and made the turn. They had hours yet. He was in no rush.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest area was beyond basic. Just a gravel parking lot, a sad-looking patch of grass with a couple of picnic tables, and a dilapidated Old-West-style building that screamed seventies kitsch-tastic housing the washrooms. Best of all, with only half the streetlights working, it all felt more spooky than grimy. If she’d been travelling with anyone but Spike, Buffy would have insisted they turn the car straight around and go on to the next stop. As it was, she got in and out of ye olde cowgirls’ room as quickly as she could, doing her best to smell as little as possible the entire time.

She couldn’t help but watch Spike on her way back. He was slouched against the side of the car, smoking what had to be at least his fourth cigarette, like some kind of James Dean wannabe. Although if she ever told him that, he’d probably claim ‘Jimmy’ stole that look, too. Just like every time she walked into a room, his body started twisting towards hers long before he could possibly know she was there. Smiling, Buffy remembered an article she’d read a few months ago, speculating on James Dean’s sexual orientation. “Do you think of yourself as straight?”

One harsh inhale later, Spike’s cigarette was nothing but filter, and he nearly set his fingers on fire pulling it out of his mouth. Grinding it out with his toe, he looked sheepishly over at Buffy, who was only sort-of trying not to laugh. “You sure you want to start this conversation, luv?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She was genuinely puzzled. “I’ve known for years you at least experimented, and hello, best friend to an out-and-proud pansexual here.”

He paused, transitioning from awkward to thoughtful. “Not really interested in anyone but you.”

Inside, Buffy glowed with pleasure. With effort, she forced herself to say, “I really like it when you say stuff like that.”

Spike ducked his head, almost bashfully. They were still getting used to exchanging compliments.

“Seriously, though,” she continued. “If I had to guess, I’d say … bisexual but hetero-romantic.”

He shrugged noncommittally.

“It’s not supposed to be a tough question.” She stepped closer and placed her hands tentatively on his hips. Holding hands was about as far as Buffy liked to go outside of sexy times, but she knew touch meant a lot to Spike, so she was trying to do more. Usually, he folded his entire body around her when they hugged. Not now. “This is obviously making you uncomfortable. You wanna tell me why?”

“Isn’t it just another way to ask how many people I’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” Buffy winced. “No, you were right. I really don’t want to know that.”

“So why ask?” He held himself perfectly still and expressionless. Spike had been in what was essentially an open marriage for a century, so when Willow first dipped her toe into what she called ‘ethical non-monogamy’, Buffy went straight to him with her questions. As friends, they’d talked a lot about how open relationships could work and work well. Only back then, everything had been hypothetical: Buffy’d just had a bad break-up, and Spike was in a headspace where staying the night felt like too much commitment. But he didn’t want or need that freedom anymore. He’d get fifty years with Buffy at the absolute outside – more likely decades less – and he didn’t want to waste a second of it.

Buffy must have seen something in his expression, because she immediately said, “I’m not angling for anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looked up at him, making sure there was full eye contact. “I don’t want or need anyone but you.”

“It’d be okay if you did,” he said, although it was agony to make the offer. “Reckon it’s one of those things most people want to try at least once.”

Buffy resolutely shook her head. “This one girlfriend of Xander’s was totally more interested in me than him. Thankfully, they were only together a few months, but it was super awkward while it lasted.” She paused. “I know I joke about being turned on by you with another guy, but that’s pure fantasy.” Buffy shivered. “If I ever saw it for real, I’d do something prison-worthy.”

Spike shut his eyes in pure relief, arms tightening around her.

“I never, ever want to give you any reason to doubt my commitment to you – to us.”

Spike settled himself around her. “So … tell us ‘bout these fantasies, then.”

“Whoah! I think I have whiplash from that turnaround.”

“Trust you, don’t I?” He sighed. “Just wish I didn’t need to be reminded so often.”

“I love you,” Buffy said, brushing her lips against his neck. “I’ll keep saying the words as often as you need to hear them.”

“Thank you.”

Buffy slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and squeezed, her expression turning mischievous. “Would you wear a tux for me?”

He smiled. “Anything my lady wishes.”

“‘Cause I might sorta have this Bond fantasy starring you and Daniel Craig.”

He nuzzled into her hair. “What is it with you and the gorilla-types?”

“Shush. I’m trying to tell you my fantasy here.”

He mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“So you’re in this gorgeous hotel room, all gold-leaf mouldings and velvet drapes. Immaculate in your tuxes.” Buffy licked her lips. “First, you’d watch each other take off your own jackets and holsters. All smouldering eyes and—”

“Got a dead sexy smoulder, if I say so myself.”

She smiled, like a queen indulging a subject’s whim. It turned him on like nobody’s business.

“Then, of course, you’d eject your magazines, check the chambers, and put the guns in the safe.”

Moment thoroughly broken, Spike pulled back and gave her a look.

Buffy shrugged. “Gun safety is important.”

“Not in porn, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Anyway_ , I’ve always thought there’s something sexy about untying a bow tie, leaving it loose while oh-so-slowly undoing each button….” She kissed along his neck where a shirt collar would be if he were wearing one, slowly applying more and more tongue and teeth and suction as she went.

Spike melted into her arms, letting himself be steered back into the fantasy. “Always knew you had a neck fetish.”

She laughed, a caress to his heart. “And then the collarbone.” She paused, staring at his like a lion with a gazelle. “There would definitely be licking at this point.” She stuck her tongue out for a brief taste, more silly than sexy.

He grinned. “And kissing?” Spike leaned in to kiss her, soft and slow.

“Mmm-hmm,” Buffy mumbled into his lips.

He was amazed by how comfortable she was, talking about her fantasies. He didn’t remember her ever being verbal during sex – vocal, yes, but not verbal. “Wait.” He pulled back. “Who’s Bond in this scenario?”

“Daniel Craig,” Buffy replied, eyes twinkling. “But I’ve never been sure whether I want you to play Yevgeny Roksov, the evil-but-irresistible villain, or Mike Hawk, the newbie CIA agent who’s not quite as innocent as he seems.”

Spike succumbed to a fit of the giggles. “How much time have you spent thinking about this?”

“Honestly? Ever since Daniel Craig came out of the sea like—”

“Ursula Andress?”

Buffy blinked. “I was thinking Halle Berry, but okay.”

He kissed her again, rather more passionately this time. “So me an’ Halle’re snoggin’ like randy teenagers,” he prompted.

“ _Daniel_ slowly walks you backwards until he’s shoved you up against the wall….” Buffy pushed Spike back against the car, hard. “And he’s giving you that cold, hard, Bond glare, and you’re utterly helpless to resist it.” She licked along the length of his jugular, making Spike’s knees go weak.

He shut his eyes, succumbing to the sensation of her breath on his skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the very slight friction she was creating against the seam of his jeans.

“You’re both kind of vaguely trying to undo all those buttons, but eventually he gets impatient and just … mmm … rips your shirt open.”

“Buttons, hey?” Spike slipped his thumbs through her belt loops, tugging her flush against him and increasing the friction. “Bastards the lot of them.” He didn’t need to see her answering smile; he could feel its warmth.

She ground that little bit harder against the buttons of his fly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Spike moved to recapture her mouth with his, but she was too quick for him.“Then he jerks your sleeves down.” Her voice was getting breathy now, edging towards a moan. “So your arms are trapped behind you.” Buffy leaned back to trace her fingertips across the contours of his chest.

Spike stretched his shoulders back until his hands fell away from her hips and finally settled with his elbows against the roof of the car. His torso was stretched up and out, bow-like, with his head thrown back, baring his throat, while he watched her through half-lidded eyes.

“Just like that,” she murmured, her expression hungry and possessive, pupils completely blown. She shifted her footing, lacing her fingers with his and pushing down on them to get the right leverage to grind into him even harder.

When he tried to move his hips to meet hers, he discovered he couldn’t – she had him thoroughly pinned, immobile against the car. A sudden and intense wave of panic went through him.

Their eyes met in a moment of perfect stillness, before Buffy started pulling back and away. But Spike’s fingers tightened around hers, refusing to let go. “So do I ever get to see Daniel’s manly chest?”

Her answering smile was still a little uncertain. “There’s definitely a Roksov version where you rip off Bond’s shirt and throw him on the bed so you can take his pants off with your teeth.”

She stared solemnly into his eyes, checking in again, and Spike was suddenly overwhelmed by his love for her. It burned away his panic of seconds ago, so hot and bright he thought he might combust from the power of it.

“I think in the here and now,” she continued, her confidence flowing back like silk gliding over bare skin, “Mike Hawk needs a ravishing.”

What followed was the most graphic description of a blowjob Spike had ever heard in his life. And not just any blowjob, but exactly the one he would have put forward as his Platonic bloody ideal. Well, Craig-as-Bond had never made his bucket list, but hearing Buffy describe each lick and caress in such filthy loving detail more than made up for that. Then she caught and held his gaze, smirked with a level of pure wickedness he never would have expected of her, and started bending her knees.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“Buffy,” she corrected gently.

Her thumbs were skimming the inside of his thighs and her eyes just passing his diaphragm when headlights swept over them and someone new drove into the rest stop. The heady scent of her arousal was immediately swallowed up by disturbed gravel and exhaust. Buffy shot upright, her body rigid against his, while Spike let out a jagged breath, pulling her against him into a loose hug and laying his cheek against her hair.

Laughter and bits of conversation floated back to them as a people carrier parked a few spaces up and a big group of what looked like college-aged kids piled out and into the restrooms.

“Would you?” he asked quietly. “If that lot hadn’t shown up?”

He could smell the blood rushing to her face, even through all the other disturbances in the air.

“Oh yes,” Buffy whispered, almost reverently. “Definitely.” Then she winked at him.

For the first time in many years, Spike truly wanted to eat someone.


End file.
